Ballet
by Charan-Amaya
Summary: France decides on a whim to rediscover the side of Russia that was lost with the revolution, and maybe lead to hope for tomorrow No own Hetalia, review to continue .


France had his plan in motion, a grin on his features as the lured Russian and himself stood alone in the grand ballroom of the current building for this round's World Conference. He looked at the other nation, sizing him up for a moment. He looked like he didn't have a clue on what was going on, which was much better for the Frenchman's situation then. The less Russia knew about his plan, the safe he was, and the more likely the other was going to agree. It's not like he was going to molest him or another—but if it came to that he wouldn't mind it at all. He always enjoyed fondling and groping other nation's vital regions… and other parts.

He faced the other, a smile on his face. "Do you have any idea why I brought you here, Ruskie?" He asked a sly smirk on his face.

The Russian was smiling, which could be a good or a bad thing, he honestly wasn't sure at this point. He took it as a good sign, since that was what was better to his current health and state of mind. "No. I don't."

"Well, I guess that's alright. Take off your boots, your coat, and all of those other extra layers you wear…"

"This isn't an appropriate place for your usual activities, da. And why woul—"He didn't get to finish with interrupting Frenchman.

"Non non non non non non! We're not doing anything like that—we're going to dance. Ballet." He smirked at the Russian now, liking the shocked and surprised expression on his face. Now if he was like that, it'd be easier to convince him to dance.

"…Why—I haven't… not since the revolution…"

"The point exactly! I remember you were an excellent partner in ballet, and it's so sad to see that go to waste! Come on, dance with me Ruskie!"

The Russian was frowning, thinking it over. "You won't let me get away, da…" A sigh and he started removing his coat. France smirked, that was easy.

* * *

Canada was walking by as he heard works from a cracked door. Peeking in to see what it was, he saw that his 'papa' France was asking Russia for a dance. Seeing the acceptance, he looked down to the bear in his arms. "Kumajimoto… I think we should tell the other's about this."

"Who are you?"

"I'm C—it doesn't matter…" He sighed, and went back towards the large meeting room.

When he arrived, they seemed to just be settling down, Germany taking order, and barking why these people were missing. Not that anyone was really paying him some mind. He went to England, who'd probably recognize and pay attention to him.

He tugged on the man's sleeve. "England… England."

It startled the older man and he turned to the twin of America. "O-oh, Canada." He straightened himself. "What is it?"

"France and Russia—"He didn't need to say any more than that. The Englishman had already stood up.

"Hey! France and Russia are plotting behind our backs! Let's go see what they're up to!" Several nations perked up at the thought of spying, and happily got up and followed the Englishman, who paused to look at Canada.

"Where are they?"

It'd be too difficult to explain… "Follow me. Quiet."

Everyone noticed, and nodded to Canada's words, 'sh'ing and other devices to keep them all in line… This was probably not going to work.

When they arrived at the ballroom, they separated into groups to peek out of each of the five entrances into the area. The sight brought some gasps to the air, it brought a few chuckles.

France and Russia were dancing, toes pointed, bodies refined. One of them humming a soft tune as they went together, putting on a lovely display for the unknown audience that sat right there and watched, amazed beyond most reasoning. None of them really knew that Russia could dance, France was a given since his country invented ballet.

"YouTube!" The American said softly, recording them on whatever electronic device it was.

He was shushed.

* * *

The two of them danced slowly, France going easy on his partner, considering he was so out of practice—but that grace? It was unmistakable. He remembered, and quite well. It was almost flawless footwork, with firm stances and jumps, tips and teeters of the body. He was still so very good; it made the Frenchman so happy that Russia was doing so well. He hummed a slight broken tune for now.

They paused. "Hum a tune for me, Russia…"

Brows furrowed. "I don't… remember any…" He said softly.

"Bullshit. I know you're picturing the halls when the Tsars were alive, the music! The dancing, the people—I can see it going through your eyes. Give me a tune…"

The Russian flushed a bit, nodding. He hummed a few soundless notes, before he started with a clear, crisp sound. Ah—he knew this one very well, even if it was Russian… He took the other's hand, starting them off, a smile on his face. "See, you do remember. Your feet remember the dance; your body remembers how to move!" He encouraged the Russian, whose sound got just a little louder.

"Just like that—remember, twirl…" He helped the Russian along, guiding and encouraging when he could. It'd been a long time since he'd gotten to perform in private with someone he knew like this. Another nation to dance with—wonderful! Especially when it was one of his favorite forms, since ballet was only second to the sideways tango.

The Russian's eyes were closed, France could see the memories behind those eyes, how perfect and in tune he was in his steps. It was nice, it was so good! France took over the humming.

"It's been so long…" He murmured softly. "I can't believe I remember da…"

Russia took the humming for a moment. "Because you never forgot, of course you didn't—I know how much you secretly love ballet and ice skating…"

They switched. "Da… But… my bosses since them—the Soviets…and…" He fell quiet, humming again.

"I know, mon petit Ruskie, I know… Don't worry; this is our little secret isn't it? You dance flawlessly."

There was a flush, lifting the Frenchman into the air and twirling. "I miss them like this."

"I know. We all miss the past."

"I wish I didn't."

"It'd be easier to be us that way, wouldn't it?"

The Russian nodded, both of them going about the song again, only stopping when they were done—both rather tired from all that controlled effort, the Russian obviously hadn't worked in ballet like this for a long time. He sighed, leaning against the nearby wall, looking at the smiling Frenchman. "We should head back, Ruskie."

Russia nodded, starting to get dressed.

That's when the rest of them scampered off, going to the meeting room again, unable to really hide their giggles and laughs about what they had just witnessed. America was figuring out his YouTube account password, attempting to remember what it was so he could post the video for the rest of the world to see. This was just too funny; he honestly couldn't help himself in this situation. Russia of all people was dancing a GIRLY thing like that! Ballet was soooo totally for women.

* * *

The two of them entered a few minutes later, everyone pausing to look at them, some of them laughing—other's just shaking their heads.

Russia paled a bit, his smile gone.

"You know."

That was when the laughter started and the teasing words. Russia kol'd at the Frenchman.

France shivered and hid away, he was so dead, but it was soooo worth it.

* * *

**Charan-Amaya: **Well, another one-shot in just a few hours. I don't know where these are coming from but I hope you enjoy this. I thought it was cute.


End file.
